Barbara Taylor Bradford - Remember

‘I was thinking of one of the districts on the edge of the city,’ Jimmy explained, ‘not anywhere remotely near Tiananmen. It’ll be quieter out there.’

Arch shook his head again. ‘No. It won’t be safe, Jimmy. It’s putting Nick at risk, and needlessly so. I’m not going to take that chance -’

‘Oh come on, Arch!’ Nicky cut in peremptorily. ‘I’m a war correspondent, remember. I’ve been in harm’s way for years. I think we ought to do what Jimmy suggests -’

‘But I don’t!’ Arch shot back, rather sharply for him. ‘I just told you, I’m not putting you at risk. I’m not going to put any of us at risk, for that matter. Not here in China for this story.’

‘Listen, Arch, I’m sick and tired of doing these phone narrations with my cellular from the square!’ Nicky exclaimed. ‘And I’m just as sure New York’s sick of running stills of me to go with the narrations. Please, Arch, let’s attempt to do at least one newscast live on camera tonight, no matter where we actually film it. I realize we can’t feed it to New York via the satellite, that it’ll have to be shipped, but even so the network would have it on time to run it Sunday or Monday.’ Turning to her cameraman, she asked, ‘There’s no problem getting the moving film out by courier, via Hong Kong and Tokyo, is there?’

‘The couriers are still operating,’ Jimmy assured her. ‘I suppose we could film you in your suite, even though you’ve been dead set against that, Nicky…’ Jimmy broke off, hurried over to the window. Pulling it open, he went out onto the balcony, stepped back inside, and stood gazing at the balcony from the room for a moment. He swung to Arch and said, ‘I think there’s a way to film Nick out there, with Changan and Tiananmen in the background. It’ll be a tight squeeze, but it’s worth a try.’

Arch sat up in the chair, looking suddenly more cheerful. ‘Sure, Jimmy, why not! We’ve talked about it before, but always dismissed it. Now we don’t have any choices left. In any case, out there on the balcony we’ll be able to convey a sense of on-the-spot reporting. I hope. Which is what we’re about, after all.’

‘I’ll start planning it,’ Jimmy said.

Nicky went to the open window and surveyed the balcony, then, turning, she said to Jimmy, ‘I’m sure it’ll work, and I’m all for it.’

Arch said, ‘Listen, Nick, I’m afraid you will have to do a phone narration for tonight’s newscast, we’ve just no alternative. We’ll do that first, then shoot out there, so that America can see you live, and in living colour, on Monday at the latest.’

‘Okay. In the meantime, if you don’t need me, I think I’ll go to the square for a while.’ Glancing over at Arch, she asked, ‘Where’s Clee? And Luke? At the Martyrs’ Monument?’

‘That’s where I left them.’

‘Then let’s make that our rendezvous, shall we? Right now I want to walk around, nose about a bit, get a proper sense of what’s really happening, talk to Yoyo and a few of the other students.’

‘Jimmy and I will join you in about an hour,’ Arch told her. ‘After I’ve called the network.’

‘See you later, guys.’ Nicky picked up her bag, shrugged it onto her shoulder and hurried out of the suite, her manner efficient and breezy.

Arch Leverson sat staring at the door for a few minutes after she had left, his thoughts focused on Nicole Wells.

Whenever she went off on her own in a hazardous zone he automatically wanted to caution her to be careful, but he had schooled himself to resist the temptation. He had learned his lesson long ago, having had his head bitten off far too often in the early days of their association. He frequently wished he did not feel so protective about her, but he did, and there was little he could do to change his feelings. In any case, Jimmy and Luke were in the same boat as he was, constantly worrying about her well-being. And she was forever scaring the hell out of the three of them with the chances she took.

There was no question in his mind about her courage. She was fearless. Danger did not bother her; she thumbed her nose at it, seemed to relish it. More than once it had struck him that she behaved as though her life was of little consequence to her. But he knew this was a far-fetched idea, therefore it was always easy for him to dismiss it at once, which he now did. Naturally Nicky cared about her life, even if she was sometimes mighty casual about her personal safety.

Reaching into his pocket, Arch pulled out a packet of cigarettes, took one and lit it. Of course it was the story that mattered, that’s what it was all about, what she was all about. The story came first, took precedence over everything else, and he understood why, being a newsman himself. Nicky Wells was like most other war correspondents, whatever their gender; she simply wanted to be at the centre of the action, where the excitement was. Both were potent aphrodisiacs, as he well knew. And once tasted, those particular aphrodisiacs were hard to forgo.

She’s a chip off the old block, he mused, thinking of her father as he drew on his cigarette. Andrew Wells had also been a renowned war correspondent in his earlier days. He continued to ply his trade, as a highly-respected columnist for the New York Times. Then there was her mother, who could hardly be overlooked: Elise Elliot Wells, Pulitzer Prize winner, former distinguished foreign correspondent, writer of important books.

Arch had often wondered what it must have been like, growing up with that formidable duo. Some childhood she must have had, being dragged around the world by two hot-shot journalists in search of headlines for their respective newspapers, who nonetheless had adored their only child, by all accounts. Still adored, in fact.

Once, in a confiding mood, she had told him that her father called her Nick because he had always wanted a son. That had explained a lot to him, and it had been a definitive clue to her personality, her devil-may-care attitude to danger. She wanted to be the brave ‘son’ whilst emulating daddy to the fullest, always seeking his approval.

Kind of a heavy load to dump on a kid, Arch thought, stubbing out his cigarette. Never once had he wished that his daughter Rachel had been a boy. He loved her exactly the way she was, didn’t want to change her one iota. And not only was she his pride and joy, she had been a great comfort to him after he and her mother had been divorced.

As for Nicky, well, she was certainly very different from most people, undoubtedly because she had been exposed to so much at such a tender age, quite aside from having an extraordinary couple for parents. Also, she was well travelled, well educated, intelligent, cool-headed, determined, and very ambitious. Some combination in a young woman. Awesome, he had decided long ago.

Sadly her private life was a disaster, or so it seemed to him. There were no men around these days. At least, he had not heard her mention anyone special since the last relationship had gone bust in such an unfortunate way. Tragic really, when he thought about it, and it had certainly done Nicky in for a while. He wondered if she continued to be hurt, if she was still suffering because of the terrible way it had ended. It was hard for him to ascertain how she felt, because she never discussed her personal problems, and always kept up such a good front. Anyway, he did not dare pry. Nicky guarded her privacy fiercely. And so she should, Arch added to himself. What she does when she’s not working is none of my business. Except that I care so damned much about her welfare.

Nicky Wells was one of the most decent human beings he had ever met. She was fair, thoughtful, kind, extraordinarily loyal, and she had immense integrity. He wanted only the best for her, the very best. He wanted her to be happy. What the hell, he thought, who’s happy in this crazy world we live in today? He sighed and roused himself from these ruminations, reached for the telephone.